


More than Hope

by LadySerenade



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Young Dorian, Young Love, Young Zevran, before the games events, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4617114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySerenade/pseuds/LadySerenade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Dorian Pavus is staying with a friend of his father's in Antiva when he meets a beautiful golden Crow. Young love is always a mess, and the mage is not immune to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will either be in two of three parts, the love affair of Dorian and Zevran just because you know you need it. This first part they are very young, Dorian a teenager and Zevran maybe two or three years older. I got the idea for a young Dorian love from one of my absolute favorite fics ever [http://archiveofourown.org/works/3067469/chapters/6656987] Shattered, by the very talented grendelthegood. Go check it out!
> 
> Also I'm sorry if there are any spelling errors, I proofread all my own things and sometimes miss a word or two!
> 
> As always I will trade my body for kudos and comments!

**Act 1 First Love**

 

Dorian had always thought his life would be more glamorous than wasting away for three months in Antiva under the strict supervision of an ancient man he didn’t know. A friend of the family, his father had said. What he had meant was, your life will be boring and monotonous and you will have plenty of time to reflect on your poor decisions son. Make a spectacle of yourself one time and you were sent off, to another country no less. It wasn’t that Magister Trecci was overbearing per say, but he did give off an Uncle Bad Touch vibe that sent most of the servants skittering down hallways to avoid him. His vacation home was lovely, and Dorian had plenty to keep him occupied, including a cute kitchen hand named Wesley who he liked to steal kisses from now and then. He somehow always tasted like citrus, today it was lemon. 

“Dorian stop,” Wesley said, turning his face away, Dorian only turned his administrations to the other boy’s neck. “I’m serious.”

“Why? Nobody ever comes in the East Wing, they think it’s haunted remember?” Dorian asked, but pulled back a little just the same. He didn’t like the look he was getting. 

“It is haunted,” Wesley replied superstitiously, and then put his hands on Dorian’s shoulders, forcing him to take a couple steps away. “Listen, we can’t do this anymore.”

Oh, great. 

“Why not?” Dorian demanded moodily. 

“Sophie,” The other boy answered, having the decency to look sheepish. Sophie was a lady’s maid that lived down the street, Dorian had seen the two of them flirting before. It had to be quite a bit more than that now for Wesley to be putting an end to things. Dorian was used to guys wanting to fool around with him before they got more serious with someone else, usually a woman. He was sick of being practice. 

“Are you going to marry her?” He asked sarcastically, trying very very hard not to pout like he was still a child. He wasn’t a child.

“Not right away,” Wesley answered, quite seriously. “My father got me an apprenticeship with Selio Rashi, you know the sword maker? It’ll only be a matter of time before I can afford a decent ring. My father approves of her, so does my mother.”

“I understand needing to impress your parents Wes-“

“No you don’t! Don’t compare yourself to me Dorian, you mess up and you get sent to live on an estate with servants waiting on you hand and foot. If I mess up my father’s life savings goes to waste, my mother could be forced into destitution, my sister would starve! I’m sorry if this hurts your feelings, but it’s my life, and I have to do the right thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Dorian says, because he really doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Me too,” Wesley replies, before leaning up and kissing his cheek, then leaving him alone in the darkened room. The only light that came in was through the window and rotted curtains. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the silver pool of light. It must have been a long time because when he is next aware of it, the pool had shifted into a different position. 

He supposed he should have saw it coming, but often one is rather blind when young. It wasn’t like things were all that committed with Wes anyway, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he had been left in the dust. He had been chasing boys since, well since he was a child really. He had learned to hide it fairly young. It was like a game to him, he knew how to be discreet. He couldn’t help but start to feel just how tiring it could be though. It was probably all that life would ever give him. Especially when he went back to Tevinter, and the boys were harder to chase. A meowing by his feet brought him to the present, and he looked down to see the Magister’s little white cat. The thing liked to follow Dorian about sometimes. 

“Hello Blossom,” Dorian said off handedly, but was then startled when the cat started hissing and spitting. What in the world? He followed the cat’s line of sight and froze. There was a pair of glowing green eyes in the shadows, reflecting the moonlight. Much too large to be another cat. The man stepped out of the shadows. 

He was an assassin. 

“Do not scream,” He said with a purring Antivan accent. Dorian nodded stupidly as the cat ran for cover and the assassin walked forward leisurely. He circled around Dorian slowly, doing some kind of assessment. The young mage was doing an assessment of his own. The intruder was an elf, quite a youthful one if he was any judge on the subject. He had beautiful goldenly tanned skin, and a fresh tattoo on his face. His short blonde hair was in disarray and he wore a razor sharp smile. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” The elf teased him.

“Neither are you,” Dorian finally said, finding his voice. The elf smirked at that, stepping very close. He smelled like jasmine and leather. 

“You are lucky it was me who came in your window,” He said, his voice sweet and sultry. Dorian hated himself for feeling dizzy and a bit weak at the knees. Not at all from fear. “Some of my associates would have killed you already.”

“And you aren’t?” Dorian asked, completely not sounding breathless. 

“You are too pretty to hurt,” The assassin said, leaning forward so their faces were merely inches apart. “Tell me where the one eyed man is and I’ll be out of the house before you can catch your breath.”

“The one eyed m..man?” Dorian stammered, trying not to stare at that perfectly full and grinning mouth. 

“He would be someone the Magister had hired in the city, probably stays away from everyone. Hiding in plain sight as they say,” The elf explained. 

“Roj,” The mage answers, recalling the correct information through his haze. “He tends the garden.”

“Perfect,” The assassin says and winks, making his way to the door. Dorian isn’t sure why but he feels disappointed, like there has to be more to this moment. He can’t just let the other one walk away, he doesn’t even know his name. Why he desired to know so badly was beyond him. He knew an Antivan Crow when he saw one, their reputation was like whispered evil in these parts. He should stay far away from someone who was clearly a trained killer. 

“Wait!” He called out, making the elf turn with another perfectly placed smirk. 

“Yes?”

“I…” Dorian started, but then wasn’t exactly sure what to say, what to ask. It seems he really needn’t have bother. 

“If you want to see me again, come to the Siren’s Call within the next week. That’s where I am staying.”

 

**((0))**

 

The Siren’s Call was of course a whorehouse. The woman at the door had outright laughed at him. Poking him, calling him a youngling and purring at him that she had never had a Vint before. The way he froze when she touched him though made her realize quickly he was not here for the reasons she had previously thought. He described the elf to her, with the green eyes and tanned skin and tattooed face. Her eyes lit with intelligence and she gave him another once over, sizing him up in a different way now. 

“And how would you know about that?” She asked, crossing her arms in front of her ample bust. 

"He told me to come here,” Dorian said indignantly, he had had quite enough of her. 

“Oh did he now? And what would a little bird like you want with the cat hmm? You lookin to hire him to off some young brat that slighted you?” She asked, clearly not impressed. 

“No,” Dorian said quickly, flushing. 

“Well then,” She said sympathetically, seeing his purpose in his embarrassment. “Use the back stair. He’s in the room at the top.”

Dorian thanked her and quickly scurried around the side of the building lest one of the Magister’s friends were to walk by and see him consorting with whores. The back of the building was piled high with rubbish and filth, the ‘stair’ nothing more than a rickety ladder that led up to the third story balcony. He could leave, he knew that, but the boldness of youth pushed him forwards, grabbing the ladder and scurrying to the top quickly. He was sure the thing wasn’t going to really support his weight and was relieved to reach the balcony alive. Now knocking on the door would be the real challenge. As it turned out that was nothing to worry about.

The door opened itself. 

The elf’s sharp face peeked out the door and Dorian felt an altogether foreign flutter of nerves. The green eyes widened in surprise for a moment and there was a quick intake of breath. 

“It’s you,” He said, clearly a pleasant surprise. 

“Were you expecting another?” Dorian questioned, trying to keep his dry tongue from sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

“I wasn’t sure what to expect, I’m the only one who ever uses that ladder,” the elf explained, pointing his chin at it. “I could have heard you in my sleep.”

“The lady at the front told me to use the back stair.”

“The back stair is right inside the back door.”

“Are you going to let me in?” Dorian asked, feeling exposed. “Or perhaps congratulate my appearing?”

“You will have to do more than just accept invitations to deserve my praise, hermoso,” The elf replied, but motioned for Dorian to come inside anyways. 

Upon entering Dorian noticed a most startling fact. The other man was stark naked. He gulped nervously for a second and took a step backwards, legs knocking into a shelf and making several heavy volumes fall to the floor in a loud clatter from their precarious perches. The Crow laughed deliciously and grabbed a draping piece of cloth from a nearby chair, wrapping it loosely around his waist. 

“Forgive me, I did quite literally hear you in my sleep,” He explained, turning towards a table and reaching for a decanter of wine. “Would you like some?” 

“Alright,” Dorian replied. He gained his composure enough to look away from the tantalizing view in front of him to inspect the room. It was rather small with the slanted ceiling of the roof, no doubt the attic room. Every inch of it seemed to be covered in something however, more likely than not his permanent situation. There were drawings and maps pinned to the walls, weapons and clothing scattered about, and a surprising number of books. In one corner there was even a small table inlaid with plants and a mortar; perhaps for poisons? Dorian couldn’t be sure. 

“For you,” The elf said, having gotten very close when Dorian had not been paying attention. He moved so silently! The cat analogy seemed entirely accurate. 

“Thank you,” The boy said nervously, trying not to be overwhelmed. “Could I perhaps take a seat?”

“Why?” The shorter man asked. “Did you come here to sit?”

“I must admit I am not sure of my intentions.”

“Don’t play coy with me.”

“Can’t I know your name first?”

“Perhaps if you impress me you shall have it.”

There was the sudden delicious feeling of a warm mouth on his. Dorian dropped his glass with the shock of it and then completely gave himself over to the sexual whim of a stranger. 

 

**((0))**

 

Dorian awoke with light playing through the window, a heavy feeling in his whole body but more prominently in his head. He tries to get his bearing for a second, this was most certainly not the wistful whiteness of his room at the Magister’s home. There was a solid wall of heat behind him and he turned his head to see the tanned face of the assassin. 

No! 

He couldn’t possibly have stayed here all night! He remembers writhing limbs and hot kisses and the delicious scent of leather and sweat. He was aching all over and his legs felt weak as he stumbled from the bed, pulling the sheets with him and landing on the floor. There was a sharp bite into his knees and he belatedly remembered the broken wine glass. He cursed himself and started snatching at clothes he only hoped were his as he made his way towards the door. The door with an impressive set of locks he could not figure out how to undo.

“It is usually I sneaking from a lover’s rooms in the early morning,” The elf purred behind him, reaching around him with a small gold key on a chain to undo the locks. Dorian didn’t even have the decency to say anything back. He slipped his robe over his head and threw the door open. He was already in the alley fleeing when he heard the voice calling after him. 

“If you ever find the courage to return, you shall have that name!”

 

**((0))**

 

As it turned out Trecci had noted his absence through the night and was not pleased to see that he couldn’t keep the boy in the house any better than his father had. He was here as a sort of punishment after all, it wouldn’t do to have him sneaking about at all hours and returning in the morning without his boots. So Dorian was thrown into rigorous study and a heavy watch on him at all times. It was weeks before he would ever get the opportunity to see the elf again, not that he hadn’t thought about him every moment that they were apart. He had become infatuated with him, the mystery and pleasure of it all. He would dream about him coming at night, sneaking through his window and having his way with him, as he nearly had that first night. This only became increasingly infuriating to Dorian, a constant build up with no release. He knew he was going to have to find him again. 

When they went to Lady Evelina’s for her daughter’s name day celebrations, he found his opportunity. There were too many people vying for attention, so much pomp that one errant teenage boy was hardly noticed. As soon as he was free in the night air he felt giddy and alive. He all but ran through the streets to reach the Siren’s Call. 

Once he was there however, he lost a little bit of that foolhardy courage. It had been some time since they had seen each other, and he knew the Crow’s type, not one to really sleep alone if he was any hand at guessing correctly. He would feel like a right fool to go to him now, only to find another in his place. It wasn’t like Dorian was all that special anyhow, just a mouthy lad from Tevinter who hadn’t completely filled out yet. 

“Hello there little bird,” A woman called from the alley. It was the same whore whom he had first met. A man slank out from behind her and made his way without even a glance back. She clanked several coins in her hand and smiled at him coyly. “Never thought we’d see you again.”

“I have been detained by my lessons,” Dorian states.

“No need to sound so formal in a place like this,” She says, walking up to him and loosening his collar. “Our resident cat will be happy to see you. He’s been askin if I’d seen the pretty Vint around. Waitin.”

“He’s asked about me?” Dorian inquired with surprise. 

“A little, he assured me you had more passion than pride,” She grinned at him and he noticed three of her teeth were made of gold. She jerked her head towards the front door. “He’s inside.”

Dorian knew it was a challenge, and he wondered how close the gold toothed woman and the Crow were. If he walked in the front door like a customer it was a great risk, he would be publicly seen, rumors would fly. He recalled the man slinking away moments before, knowing that he was trying to protect his reputation by not entering an establishment like this. Though Dorian couldn’t understand how fucking whores in alleyways was much better. The recklessness of youth won out and he took the woman’s dare, walking in through the front door. 

The inside of the Siren’s Call was not quite what he expected. He figured it would be filthy and seedy, but the opposite appeared to be true. There were plush red carpets on freshly polished wooden floors, grand portraits on the walls of piratical figures, and decadence even down to the detailing on the lamp shades. In the corner a lovely young woman with her ample bosom pushed nearly up to her neck was playing the harp, giving the whole place the feeling of an Orlesian salon.

The girls that worked the establishment spared no time in coming up to the young man and making their intentions clear with grabbing hands and fluttering lashes. There were a few men lounging about with women similarly draped on them who spared not a second glance at Dorian, and he supposed for that he should be grateful. He didn’t want word getting back to the Magister after all. He kindly excused himself from the company around him and made his way deeper into the Siren’s Call, seeking out the elf he had been assured was inside, though there was no visible sign of him. He thought that maybe he should ask around, but it seemed he was the one to be found. 

“Cosa bonito,” The Antivan’s accent came from close behind, and then the heat of him could be felt pressed against Dorian’s back. The young man tried very hard to repress the shudder that went through him, but judging from the rich laughter he heard moments later, he knew he hadn’t fully succeeded. Dorian turned and looked down at the beautiful blonde, still just as striking as when they first met. 

“There you are,” He said, trying to sound in control of himself. 

“Have you been looking long?”

“Not particularly no,” He admits. 

“I have been waiting. I must admit I was starting to give up hope that you would ever come back,” The elf admits and then does something Dorian had not quit expected. He reached up and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down and planting a warm and delicious mouth on his. Dorian gasped, but it only served to invite an inquiring tongue into his own mouth. He had never been kissed in public, and the thrill of the display shot right through him and for a moment he could barely even think properly. The elf seemed to notice this, and when he was done kissing him stupid, laughed and pulled them flush together. “Does it excite you hermoso? To not have to hide?”

Dorian remembers the first time they met, how he had been doing just that. Off hiding with some boy, because to act like this in public, the son of a Tevinter Magister, would be to shame his family. He was not allowed to be so free with his affections back home, and had gone to great lengths to hide them here. And yet he was in this establishment, kissing boys in public and feeling no shame. In fact all he felt was excitement, and a desperate need to do it again. And so he did, leaning forward and kissing the blonde back with an equal amount of fervor and desperation. 

“Zevran,” the other panted as they broke apart. “My name is Zevran.”

“I thought you’d never tell,” Dorian admitted. “I’m Dorian.”

“Well Dorian, let’s move this upstairs shall we?” He asked, reaching between the younger man’s legs and cupping him there. 

Dorian could do nothing more than follow.

 

**((0))**

 

They fell into bed with a tangle of limbs and desire. Dorian wasn’t really doing much thinking, it was all still new enough that he could only give way to his body’s reactions to the roaming hands Zevran had. Everything was chalked up to desire now, a desire that was all consuming. It was dangerous, how much he wanted to give to this golden killer, but oh how he did want to give. Completely. 

“I am not your first,” Zevran whispers with a dragging of tongue on neck. “Though I would venture to say not far from it."

Dorian unwantedly thinks of Magister Cotvor, his rough grip, the pain, the coldness of it all. A horrific experience in all honesty, and his body must have betrayed him, for his desire died instantly at the thought and he went rigid. Zevran was not so doltish as not to notice this. 

“I have struck a nerve, yes?” He asked, uncertainty looking very pretty on his face. 

“Why does it matter if you are the first?” Dorian asked instead of answering, for his body language spoke enough in that regard. 

“It doesn’t,” The elf answers quickly. “I had just been thinking how lovely it would have been to seduce a young virginal Tevinter.”

That startles a laugh out of Dorian. “Trust me, this is much better than the first time. I don’t think I shall ever forget it.”

“Enamored with me already I see?” Zev said smirking. “Well then I shall have to make sure you come back again.”

Dorian was about to ask how he was going to do that when the elf laid next to him and pulled his shoulders until their positions were reversed. Suddenly, Dorian felt like it was truly the first time. He understood what the elf was getting at, but honestly it overwhelmed him just a bit. There was a delicious sound of laughter under him that made the young mage blush, something he wasn’t entirely too fond of. 

“You look as if I’ve just held my blade to your throat, while an enticing idea you don’t have to worry about weapons in the bedroom til much later dear,” Zevran said, teasing him. 

“I’ve never-“

“Well that much is painfully obvious. This is supposed to be fun,” The Crow teased him again. Then to get things going he slowly rolled his hips upwards to make his desire felt hard up against Dorian’s hip. The mage remained frozen however, so Zevran leaned over and ever so slightly bit the inside of his wrist. He used the distraction and Dorian’s melodramatic reaction to pull the younger man into a kiss and holding them tightly together. 

Zevran kissed him back into a pleasant daze and uncomfortable hardness. Dorian followed where he was lead, learned what he was being taught, and a small part of him started to feel something he had never felt before in his young life. It was small and just blooming, but the mage knew it would stick. Young love was often devouring in that way. You never forget your first taste of such a delicious drug, for it will never be as it was that first time. He felt foolish, for he knew the assassin would never feel the same, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering just how much of Zevran he would be allowed to have. 

A hand on his member stopped thoughts abruptly. How had he even managed to snake a hand between him and through all of Dorian’s finery without notice? The mage moaned despite himself and buried his face in the crook of Zevran’s neck. 

“Take off your clothes,” Zevran murmured in his ear, voice silky with need. “I will get ready for you.”

Dorian didn’t need to be told twice and pulled away enthusiastically, all but tearing into the complicated buckles of his outfit. In fact he did break quite a few of them in his urgency. He tried not to stare at Zevran as he did so. Maker’s flaming ass why had he worn so many layers? By the time he stood to remove the cumbersome pants he thought for sure the mood would have been spoiled, but looking down at the Crow proved to be quite the opposite. Zevran was staring up at him hungrily, his small amount of clothing long tossed aside and already he was working himself open. Dorian’s painful erection jumped at the sight and he was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. Though he thought that nearly every time he looked at him.

“On the table,” Zev said, pointing his little chin at the bedside table. “The purple one.”

Dorian grabbed the purple bottle, knowing already what to do, remembering only because Zevran had done so with him that first time. He poured a generous amount of oil into his palm and rubbed it liberally on his cock before crawling back onto the bed. Zevran was right there to guide him through it, grabbing Dorian by the hips and lining him into position. 

“Slowly,” The elf says, arching hips up to meet hips. “Don’t stop unless I tell you.”

Dorian did as he was told, easing forward as best he could. The initial push was difficult, and he was positive he had done something wrong, but Zevran wouldn’t hear it, and told him not to pull out as he adjusted around him. It wasn’t too long before his hands found Dorian’s backside, urging him forward more and more until he was buried. 

And Dorian was lost. 

His heart started beating off kilter and he was sure that he couldn’t move, that it would shatter them both. He felt Zevran’s hands sooth up and down his back, his shoulders, down his arms. Then those wonderful hands found his face and the pad of one thumb gently stroked his cheek, urging Dorian to open his eyes, though he was afraid to. 

“Hi,” Zevran said cheekily when their eyes finally met. “Are you alright?”

Dorian nodded, couldn’t do much more than that. 

“You can move now,” Zev jested. 

“I don’t think I can,” Dorian said, startling a laugh out of the man underneath him. 

“Alright,” He purred, pulling away. Right when Dorian opened his mouth to protest Zevran pushed his hips back up, the sensation sending a shiver down the mage’s spine, a moan coming out without his awareness. Zevran shushed and cooed him and did the work to put them both into motion together, bring Dorian to his own pace. That thumb traced over his lips and Dorian instinctively pulled it into his mouth, sucking on it and trying not to come apart at the seams. 

“Give me your hand,” Zevran said thickly, taking the freely proffered limb and leading it to his own cock. He kept his hand over Dorian’s as he stroked himself, the mage loving the soft heat he could feel, the rhythm they had together. Paces picked up on both sides, erratic and frantic with need. Neither of them was lasting very long, but nor did either of them care. “Say my name.”

“Zevran,” Dorian panted readily. 

“Louder,” The elf demanded, tightening the grip. 

“Zevran,” Dorian said again, nearly a shout this time. 

“Again.”

Dorian shouted something incoherently as he approached that unspeakably wonderful abyss. 

The world went white. 

Everything was bliss. 

 

**((0))**

 

There was no keeping them apart after that night. They spent every moment of stolen time together and however they could manage. That meant that Dorian became a regular at the Siren’s Call, and Zevran became proficient about breaking into the Magister’s estate. 

And they fucked constantly. 

Almost every time they were together one was tearing at the other, not even able to think until relief was found. Dorian knew that Zevran was probably just sticking around because, as he liked to remind him daily, Dorian was so very _‘pretty.’_ The mage though had fallen hard and fast and soon every thought he had was of the Crow, everything he did was somehow influenced by the infatuation. He found it hard to dedicate himself to his lessons, and even more difficult to pay any attention to Trecci at all. The old man tried to lecture him, threatened to write to his father, made all kinds of idle threats that he never carried out. Perhaps he was sympathetic on young love, for it was obvious to anyone who saw him that Dorian was head over heels. 

So much so that he took up some very embarrassing hobbies, like writing truly awful poetry and singing to himself about the power of love. He was blind and consumed by something he was too afraid to think might not be reciprocated. The servants would whisper about him, smiling and giving him a hard time, but nothing dampened his mood or sobered him until everything started crashing down just as fast as it had been built up. 

“Not tonight sir Peacock,” Frida, the gold toothed woman, told him at the door to the Siren’s Call. 

“What do you mean not tonight?” Dorian asked incredulous. 

“I mean that he told me specifically no visitors love,” She said as gently as she could. 

“He would want to see me,” He insists.

“Not tonight he don’t,” She said and made to close the door. He had to think fast. He could go around to the back he supposed, but he would probably be similarly blocked there. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small bag of coins. Her eyes lit up. 

“Please Frida, just tell him you fell asleep at your post,” The young mage pleaded. 

“This will make him angry,” She warned even as she reached for the bag, a look of sympathy in her eyes.  

“That sounds like my problem.”

“That it does,” She concludes, snatching the bad and turning a blind eye to him so he could pass. Things in the Siren were the same as ever, some of the girls calling to him and giggling when he paid them a well placed smile or wink. He was adored here by the girls because he was one of the only men that ever came here that didn’t desire them, in return they doted on him and trusted him. 

When he climbed his way up to Zevran’s room there was no movement to be heard on the other side, no light under the door either. He had to be there though, or else why would Frida try to stop him from entering? They were friends of sorts, she wasn’t just trying to get his money. He tentatively knocked on the door a few times.

“Just leave it at the door,” Came the Crow’s voice from within. 

Dorian knocked again, and this time there was the sound of things bustling about the room and the door being unbarred. The door flew open so fast Dorian was afraid he was going to fall into the room with it, but maintained his footing just barely, catching the doorframe to stop his fall and coming nose to nose with Zevran. The elf did not looked pleased. More importantly, he barely looked like himself. 

Dorian didn’t mean to gasp the way he did, hand flying to his mouth to try and cover his shock. His beautiful lover, with his face like a piercing ray of sunshine was a mangled mess. One of his eyes was swollen over, purpling and angry looking. There was a gash on the other side, barely missing his tattoo and disappearing down into his shirt. There was also dried blood around his mouth and his nose looked busted. Dorian could scarcely believe it, this man with his athletisicm and catlike grace had always seemed untouchable to him, but someone had indeed touched him. Had beaten him. 

“What happened?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

“Go away,” Zevran snapped, going to slam the door which Dorian easily blocked him from doing so. The tone the elf had used cut right through Dorian, and he didn’t want to admit how afraid he was in that moment that everything was going to be ruined. 

“I can help you,” He tried to explain. There was a flash of fear in the other’s eyes, something the mage wouldn’t have guessed. He wondered if he was afraid of magic or of Dorian seeing him so vulnerable, or a combination of the two. 

“I do not desire your help, go home Dorian,” The elf said, trying to turn away. Dorian would not give up though, could not just abandoned the only person to him here that mattered. That he….loved. Even thinking the word was devastating and elevating all at once. He grabbed Zevran’s shoulder and took a gamble, pulling the elf towards him. There was resistance at first, but with more insistence Zevran gave in, allowing himself to be pulled towards Dorian and embraced delicately. 

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” The Tevinter promised. “Just let me ease your pain.”

“What a mage thing to say,” Zev muttered.

“How very elf-like of you to refuse help,” Dorian teased back, feeling a little shake of laughter. 

“It would be tragic to let my face scar I suppose,” Zevran said, breaking the embrace and leading them both into the room. Dorian felt weak with relief and sent flames skittering to the candles to illuminate the space. 

He wished he wouldn’t have, and he could now clearly guess what happened. The room was in shambles, nearly cleared out of supplies and goods. The wardrobe was smashed to bit and the bed was sitting at a slant. There were scorch marks on the floor. 

“Who did this?”

“Let’s not,” Zevran said, grabbing a bottle of wine from a pile of things by the door. He shook his head and traded it out for a fine bottle of brandy instead. 

“Not what?” Dorian demanded, trying not to get upset. 

“Not talk about my private life,” The elf told him, drinking right from the bottle. He then pulled the mattress off the bed and onto the floor, sitting himself on top of it. Dorian came to join him more slowly, not saying anything, fighting a panic he wasn’t sure why he was fighting. 

“May I touch you?” He asked. 

“By all means,” He purrs, and sits back like they are about to fool around. Something about it makes Dorian incredibly angry and the panic rises even more.

“Stop it,” He demands, reaching out and cupping Zev by the back of the neck, bringing him closer so he can examine the bad eye. Zevran looks away and doesn’t say anything else as he submits to the healing. Dorian can’t help but notice how pale he goes, how he starts to perspire and goosebumps break out on his skin. So maybe he really was put off by magic. It only cements to Dorian something that is creeping up the back of his consciousness. That this would be the last time they saw each other. He couldn’t let that happen. 

“You might feel a little weak tonight,” Dorian says, looking at his lap rather than at the man he so foolishly fell in love with. “Try and get some rest.” He finishes and goes to get up and leave. Zevran grabs his hand and pulls him back down onto the bed. 

“Stay,” He says. It’s a simple word, and Dorian thinks a very sad word at the moment. But he does as he is told, allowing Zevran to rearrange them so that the young mage is laying in his lap as he drinks from his brandy. Ten million thoughts surge through his brain about ten million things, and he doesn’t remember dozing off. 

 

**((0))**

 

The next morning, just as Dorian suspects, Zevran is gone. Not just gone, but thoroughly vanished. The room is empty of all his little touches, only broken furniture left behind. He rubs his face and feels a fine powder. He had been drugged, and a rage swells through him, coming up so fast that all he can do is scream, touches of flame licking up his arms, singing his robes. 

How could he have been so stupid? He should have known! The man was an assassin after all, a known deceiver. He had let himself get attached and now…now he would have to move on. He had felt the sting of heartbreak so many times he thought he knew it, but he was realizing that he had never truly been heartbroken before, so much that it made him sick. 

“Let’s get you home love,” Frida said, laying hands on his shouders. He hadn’t heard her come up, hadn’t realized she was there until the hardy woman pulled him easily to his feet. 

“He’s gone,” Dorian said stupidly, feeling drunk, feeling lost. 

“I know,” Was all she said, hooking her arm around his waist. She all but dragged him out onto the street, the girls that were awake in the Siren making sympathetic noises and a few telling him how sorry they were. He had never in his entire life felt so absolutely stupid. 

He thought she would leave him there outside but she didn’t, she kept walking with him. He belatedly noticed how tastefully she was dressed today, how she looked like any other Antivan lady. He realized too that she meant to walk him all the way home, and that she knew where he was staying. There was only one way she would know that. He shoved away from her and pointed an accusing finger. 

“You knew! You knew he was planning to run! He set this all up didn’t he?” He fumed. 

“Don’t make a scene love, we’re being watched,” She said and forcefully took his arm again. She pulled him forwards and started back on their path. “Yes I knew he was leaving. He told me to turn you away, that it would be easier if he vanished. When I let you in last night it was only because I felt bad for ya.”

“And the coin had nothing to do with it?”

“Well I’m still a whore little bird,” She said with half a smile. “This morning in the wee hours he came to me and told me to keep an eye on you. To take you back where you belonged.”

“Where I belong?” He demanded.

“We are different classes of people Dorian. He was taken with you, but he knew it was wrong. Soon enough you’ll be back in Tevinter, and that is somewhere he won’t follow. It was fun yeah? So take that with you and hold onto it,” She told him, and he was too young and hurt to notice the truth in it.

“I loved him,” He said, beyond pathetic now. He had never said that word out loud. 

“I know you did bird,” She said smiling sadly. “He was broken up about leaving you.”

Dorian didn’t believe it, and couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen this coming sooner. He had never really thought about the future, it hadn’t gotten that far, but he had been so blind that he hadn’t thought of anything but Zevran for months. Now it felt so empty that nothing else seemed to matter but the emptiness. All it took was one night. He should have never have come after him, and he felt that love inside him slowly turning to bitterness. He had been wrong, so wrong, to have ever hoped for more. He let Frida lead him back to the Magister’s estate without any more words between them. She pulled up short when the great house came into view. 

“You look just like her,” The woman said in awe. That stopped Dorian’s blood cold. He looked up to see the last thing he was ready for. His parents, looking ready for murder. His mother in all her devastating beauty, his father with his obvious power, and Magister Trecci, looking self-satisfied, standing behind them. 

“We’re going home,” His mother said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just juices flowing and thinking and sadly little of the duo actually being together. A filler for what was going on for Dorian and Zevran the years after the Blight.

** Act 2: Strangers **

 

_“Have you heard?”_

_“Why would she come here? You don’t think…”_

_“I bet it’s Magister Torres! I heard a cousin of hers is one of his blood slaves!”_

_“You are being ridiculous! That woman is not-“_

 

“Dorian!” Auri says for what must be the hundredth time. “Where are you?”

“Sorry dear, just eavesdropping,” He says by way of excuse and pets her head affectionately. They have become increasingly close this past year, both hiding in their own way with each other. She has been good to him though, and for both of their equal benefits they make public appearances together.

“Oh yes isn’t it exciting! The Hero of Ferelden in Tevinter!” She exclaims, eyes filling with wonder. He laughs at her audacity.

“That woman coming here is not exciting! She’ll probably walk right in, reform our entire hierarchy and leave a trail of bodies behind her,” Dorian says in distaste. He has heard multiple rumors about the woman and the way she burned a trail through Ferelden. Most rumors all rang true, that the woman was ruthless, and something to be feared. So naturally everyone in Tevinter was abuzz to meet her.

“Oh don’t be such a bore! I heard she keeps a string of lovers with her at all times and that she is an exquisite dancer. Quit trying to ruin all the fun!” Auri beams.

“We’ll get a chance to know soon enough,” Dorian drawls out. “My father is hosting her.”

“Indeed? And how did house Pavus get such an honor?” The woman asks, positively glowing with excitement.

“She asked,” Dorian explains. “I don’t think it’s Magister Torres she’s after.”

“You think she’s targeting your father?” Auri gasped delightedly.

“That sounds like a problem for my father,” Dorian says, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing servant. It seemed that everyone started drinking rather you in Tevinter, not that it was hard to imagine why. The rest of the evening goes as all such evenings go. He gets drunk with his friends and gossips, hits on a couple of pretty boys, and goes home alone. He isn’t feeling as easy as he puts out though, not since he heard of Kahli Tabris coming to Tevinter. Of all the rumors that swirl about her there is one in specific he is dying to know, and that is if the Antivan Crow that is said to have stolen her heart is the man he suspects him to be. He supposed it could be anyone and that he was just reaching, but the description reminds him of the man he knew. He had heard the name mentioned only once, but in his heart he somehow just knew that it was Zevran. His Zevran.

The preparations were bordering on outlandish for the Hero, and Dorian could do nothing more than stay out of the way, a direct quote from his father. He half wandered if Auri’s words had any truth to them. Of all the great houses in Tevinter what had made her choose this one? He supposed he would know soon enough in any case.

 

**((0))**

 

Kahli did not come with a great show of people and did not incite riots in the streets. She arrived quietly, with her escort, in the middle of the night. His mother had been scandalized but gracious, and his father had been downright angry, though he would never show it. How was he to brag and make a grand show when the woman showed up like a thief in the wee hours?

She wasn’t what Dorian had been expecting. For one, she was tiny. He had trouble picturing her taking down a small child let alone a hellish archedemon. The person who accompanied her was in a black hood and remained in the shadows, eyes fixed on Kahli. Dorian could see those shining orbs inside that hood however, remembering the first time he had seen something similar. He tried to resist the urge to demand he show himself, to get over the anxiety of possibilities.

“We did not expect you for days yet,” Dorian’s mother said smiling, gripping Kahli’s hand and beaming at her. The blood slaves would faint to see her willingly cow tow to an elf.

“I hope my arrival is of no trouble Lady Pavus,” Kahli says, she has a soft musical voice, barely above a whisper. Something about her is off… eerily calm.

“Of course not!” His mother says laughing. “My husband was just a little caught off guard is all, but it’s good to keep a man on his toes no?” She asks, ever charming.

“My thoughts precisely,” Kahli says, eyes flicking towards Dorian. His mother seems to remember there are other’s in the room besides the Hero.

“My son,” She beckons. Dorian comes to her slowly, not exactly ready for introductions either. A servant had shrieked dreadfully when she discovered an intruder in the house, he and his parents had come down in some state of undress. The young mage felt exposed, and crossed his arms over his chest rather than shake the elf’s hand.

“A pleasure,” He says, though it is not. His mother looks like she is ready to set him aflame, his father is still dumbstruck, half asleep.

“Introductions will be better made in the morning,” Kahli says diplomatically. “You can give me the grand tour Dorian. For now, we will retire to our quarters. Come, take me to my room Lissa,” She says to the cowering servant in the corner. His mother looks appalled by this, and Dorian is having quite a shock himself.

It seems the Hero of Ferelden was already familiar with them all, though they had all just met for the very first time. The servants name wouldn’t have been given, and his hadn’t been either. It is off putting, and Dorian has trouble sleeping for the rest of the night.

 

**((0))**

 

The morning is worse. Kahli is something else in the daylight. She moves so quietly he has trouble keeping track of her. She reminds him sorely of Zevran. He hadn’t seen the cloaked figure yet today, and had no courage to ask the Hero who her escort was. He wasn’t sure what would be more horrifying, if it wasn’t him, or if it was. Who was Dorian Pavus compared to the bloody Hero of Ferelden? Dorian frequently thought of Zevran, even still, and had always felt a longing for love lost. It seems perhaps now, that it was more than foolish to have held onto it all these years.

He could see what someone would see in the Tabris girl. She had a lovely face, sharp and alert. She looked so alive, contrary to her silent steps and whispering voice. Her hair was coppery and long, looking soft to the touch. She also dressed rather plainly, perhaps to seem as humble and non-threatening as possible. This didn’t work however, for he knew by watching her that she was a predator. The way she moved, how her eyes were on everything at once, the way her smile was careful never to falter. She was very much like an assassin indeed.

“You are quieter than I thought you would be,” She tries to make conversation as they go out into the aviary.

“You sound as if you’ve heard of me long before today,” Dorian says carefully.

“Of course I have,” She answers simply, keeping her eyes on the birds as they dance startled above them. “I was hoping you would help me.”

“With what?” He shoots back testily. He does not like being at the disadvantage.

“I am tracking a slaver, a very bad man that still thinks he can lay his hands on my people,” She tells him. “During the blight your country men, and mine, tore through the alienage with a vengeance. My people deserved better, and I plan to take back what was theirs. I have it on good authority you might be one of the only decent types kicking around this hateful place.”

“Whose authority would that be?” He baits her.

“You already know that, don’t you?” She asks him, finally pausing and turning to look at him. There is a challenge there, but also a vulnerability. Dorian is not sure he likes her at all, but he understands that look.

“So the rumors are true?” He asks, trying to keep his voice even. “I had hoped they weren’t.”

“He told me I could trust you, are you going to make him a liar?”

“Is he here?” He answered the question with one of his own.

“No,” She tells him. “He took me as far as the border and then went home to Antiva. Our travels keep us apart more than together.”

“So the elf with you?” He asks against hope.

“My cousin Shianni,” She lets him down with a tone like sympathy.

“Who is this slaver?” Dorian asks to cover his crushing disappointment, turning and walking to keep her from seeing it all over his face.

“His name is Horsine,” She tells him. “He is good friends with your mother.”

“I know,” Dorian replies. They were more than ‘good friends’, but that was none of the Hero’s business. He had many vindictive thoughts at once, but mainly he thought that he did not want to help her, or more, he wondered why he should. She seemed to read this on his face.

“Ah,” She says knowingly. “You are angry with me. This doesn’t matter, I will have Horsine’s head before I leave the country, whether that is loudly and dragging your family into ruin or silently is entirely up to you. It would only be too easy to expose your mother, to get your slaves to turn on you and your father. I could destroy your family’s legacy by days end if that was what I wanted, but I had hoped, for the love of the man we both know, that it wouldn’t have to come to that.”

“I see the rumors of your brutality are true,” He grits out. “You are a plague.”

“I didn’t get to where I am today by being gentle,” She says unapologetically.

“I still don’t see why you need my help,” He responds. The aviary has grown quiet, they have reached the reflection pool.

“Zevran has begged me to do this quietly, and to accomplish this I need to make Horsine’s death look like an accident. I need my entire trip here to run smoothly,” She tells him, but sees the way his face contorts at the other man’s name, how he is instantly lost to her, not hearing the rest of her words. Kahli takes a chance and sets one of her tiny hands on his arm. “If it eases your pain, know that you are not the only one who remembers. He always told me he never would have left you willingly.”

“What?” Dorian hisses at her, eyes snapping to her own. She looks genuinely surprised, one of the first true facial expressions he’s seen from her.

“After all this time you still do not know?” She asks.

“Know what?” He demands.

“You should talk to your father about this.”

 

**((0))**

 

Magister Pavus was busy overseeing the preparations for the feast that was to be held tonight in the Hero’s honor. Usually it was something his mother would be doing, but she was too occupied drilling the servants and bustling about the house as a bundle of peony perfume and nerves.

“Father I need to speak with you,” Dorian said sharply, not even catching his father’s attention slightly.

“What is it?” He asks off handedly.

“It is about Zevran,” Dorian forces himself to say the name aloud.

“Who?” His father asks, still only half listening.

“The elven lover I took while I was in Antiva,” Dorian says, shocking one of the maids into dropping a vase. His father turns on him and Dorian nearly collapses under the oppressive weight of his father’s magic. He grabs his son by the arm and pulls him into a drawing room off the main hall , slamming the door behind them and sealing the room with a spell of silence.

“Are you trying to ruin this family Dorian?” His father asks angrily, they are facing off like feral cats, not that this was anything new these days. They always seemed to be at odds over something.

“I am thinking on it!” Dorian shouts at him. “You are the one that drove him off aren’t you? You attacked him!”

“What does that matter now? I was protecting you, _my son_ , whether you want to believe that or not,” His father tries to defend himself.

“What from? Being in love with a man?”

“From a dangerous assassin that would have surely caused you harm,” He shot back.

“As you caused him harm? I saw the aftermath of what you did!”

“I spared his life,” His father tells him, almost sounding like he was begging for this to stop. "Dorian you have to outgrow this foolish notion that you get to live a life where such freedoms are allowed. If you are going to be my son and heir than you are going to live the way this family needs you to. I could have had that little knife ear split in two and hung from my banister if it pleased me, but I did not do that."

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Dorian asks in astonishment.

“This discussion is over,” His father tells him, sweeping from the room just as quickly as this all began, leaving his son nearly gasping in anger. The Elder Pavus had looked a little shocked with himself, he had come to a dark place. Things used to be so much easier, back when Dorian looked at his father in a heroic glow. The rebelliousness of youth had a way of making every battle your biggest one, and he wondered how much longer father and son could continue living this way.

 

**((0))**

 

The feast was grand indeed, a loud colorful ridiculous affair that gave Dorian a migraine. He watched Kahli all night, her interactions, her mannerisms, trying to decipher her down to her marrow. Auria was obsessed and half in love the second she laid eyes on her, and Dorian used that as an excuse for why he always had her in his line of sight as well. Everyone wanted to get closer to the Hero, to gain her favor. Even Horsine vied for her attention, and Dorian wondered how much anger she had to swallow just to be civil to him, though she gave no outward signs of a struggle.

It was a few hours in that he actually managed to be close to her without trying, catching her eye and nodding over his head to the terrace. She followed him easily enough, making gracious excuses to depart from her adoring fans. Once out in the cool air of the night though, facades were off on both sides.

“I should let you ruin them you know. I’ve been struggling with the idea all night,” He tells her.

“But you won’t because they are your family,” She says back knowingly, and he hates her for being so damned omnipotent all the time.

“It would be what they deserved,” He reflects. “But you are right, I can’t let them fall. I still bare the name Pavus so I might as well fight to keep it clean. I will help you if you help me.”

“I’m not sure I can give you what you want,” She tells him. “I begged him not to come.”

“You did?” Dorian is shocked enough to ask.

“I know that he will not always be mine, but I am not ready to give him up just yet. I will live a short violent life Dorian, you will have to forgive my weakness in this regard,” She says to him.

“You truly think he would leave you?” He asks shyly.

“He was never really mine. I spared his life, and he always thought he owed me for that. But a woman knows when she is not loved fully, and a man knows too. We comfort each other, and I need that right now, until my mission is over, then…”

“You’ll what? Send him back to me? Don’t be ridiculous,” Dorian scoffs.

“I will release him,” She says sternly. “Whether or not it is you he flees to, it is not for me to decide.”

“My mother always asks her handmaiden, the small curly haired girl, to bring up a bottle of Ravaini Blue when Horsine is with her, alone. You will find it difficult to get through to the little twit, she is enamored with my mother, and I would guess for all your knowledge and terror you would still find it difficult to get to her. You would have to have one of the kitchen girls do it for you, switch out the bottle before Marci got to it.” He tells her this without looking at her.

“You would risk poisoning your mother, what if she were to drink it first?” Kahli asks logically.

“My mother does not drink, she is afraid it will age her skin,” He tells her, bored.

“And if she did? If just this once she was feeling free and ambitious, took a sip straight from the bottle as it left that girl’s hands…what would you think then?” She asks, taunting him.

“That when I was six my mother burnt my hands with veilfire, to teach me what it would feel like if I failed,” He told her, in his own sick way knowing that he meant it, that he wouldn’t be all that remorseful to see her go. A little seed of hate thought it would be just what his father deserved. Maybe he had come to a dark place too.

“Goodnight Lady Tabris,” He tells her, and retreats to bed.

 

**((0))**

 

The whole thing played out so perfectly that Dorian came to have a whole new fearful appreciation for Kahli, one that knew she was indeed a very dangerous foe to have. Horsine was poisoned discreetly; _must have been the wine_ , he had heard many ladies whispering after; and in the process of falling ill had called for a coach home. When he arrived at his estate his servants let him in to the house, where they put him straight to bed in front of a slew of witnesses. The gentleman died in his sleep very peacefully, and everyone was too afraid to say much more about it. They knew perfectly well that he was killed, and the smart ones knew exactly who had done it. Some rumors do hold grains of truth after all, and the one that Kahli Tabris had come to Tevinter to kill a slaver was apparently one of the more truthful rumors after all.

It was late by the time Dorian had come home on the day Horsine was killed. He had spent the day out celebrating many things he supposed. The fact that he played his gambit right and his mother had lived, being part of a successful assassination, and at such a young age. Mourning the fact that he knew his life was taking some very strange turns, and perhaps a deep longing for a life that was free of all of this. Auri had spent most of the day with him, and told him how her family forbid her to marry him, something that was very likely never happening anyhow. She assured him that they would now have to be inseparable, and perhaps even stomach a kiss in public just once for the mutual scandal of both families. Overall it had been a strange day.

His room was silent and still. His clothes were still strewn about the floor, books left on precarious perches, and such a vast array of clutter and nonsense that he couldn’t honestly blame the servants for refusing to come in here. They were terrified they would step on something and turn into a chicken or be blasted to the Maker’s side. He flicked his fingers lazily and a soft orange glow rousted itself in the fireplace. It was then that his sense of solitude was shattered and was replaced by a stiffness sneaking its way up the back of his neck.

“I was starting to think you would never come home,” The familiar voice teases him. “You know I’ve been here since noon.”

“Zevran,” Dorian says. He’s too afraid to turn around.

“You didn’t believe her did you?” He asks. There is a shuffling sound so Dorian closes his eyes. He isn’t ready. Warm hands circle his wrists, there is soft laughter.

“I knew,” He says differently.

“Knew what?”

“That you would grow into a beautiful man. Tall and stately. You look like a King,” He says with a hint of flirtation in his voice, backed by true admiration. “Or should I say a Magister,” He finished laughing. Dorian is offended enough to open his eyes. There was something about the way southerners said Magister that made his hackles go up.

“I am not a Magister, and you don't have to say it like they're some kind of villain in a children's tale” He says and pulls himself way. Zevran looked exactly the same, the tattoo had healed beautifully, and he perhaps had a hardness to him now. He had always seemed deadly, but now he seemed more as if death didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

“You live in more luxury than the King of Ferelden,” He says, continuing to taunt him. “Tevinter is like another world altogether.”

“Are you here to try and shame me for my circumstances? What is it you want? Have you been here all this time?” Dorian asked in increasing tones of agitation. This was nothing however compare to the rage that was ready to spill out of him at any moment, an anger he hadn’t even realized he had been harboring.

“Kahli’s cousin Shianni hasn’t left Denerim in her entire life, did you know that? Kahli tends to travel alone but I insisted on coming,” Zevran assures him.

“She told me she begged you not to come,” He says a little shocked.

“She did,” Zev says with a smile. “But I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you again. Who do you think reigned her in all this time? She was going to ruin your family, turn your slaves on you and have them kill you in the night. It was I who did the begging Dorian, to spare you.”

“She was going to have me killed?” He asks stupidly, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Just because of the sins of my mother, and…and her lover?”

“It does not matter now,” Zevran insisted. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

“You just got here!” Dorian tries to argue, then realizes that isn’t strictly true. Apparently he had been here for days. They had been living under the same roof and he hadn't been any the wiser. He felt extremely put out.

“I wanted you to know some things Dorian,” He says to him, then comes and kneels in front of him on the bed, grabbing both of Dorian’s hands in his own. “I didn’t abandon you. That night you came to me your father and his men beat me within an inch of my life, only to heal me and do it again. They put a great fear of magic in me that I’ve had to spend years recovering from. Even after that, I went to the Magister’s house, I looked for you, but I knew it was too late. I couldn’t just leave the Crows, and you were gone home. It gave me hope Hermoso,” He paused to get closer, their faces inches apart. “To think that maybe our time had not yet come.”

“That’s optimistic of you,” Dorian says, and is silenced with a kiss. It is soft and gentle, full of something he dared to feel was like love could be.

“You can spend your years being bitter my little bird, or you could hope for the same future that I hope to find someday.”

He kissed him once more, and was gone.

 


End file.
